


It's called science, Peter. Look it up.

by Pokeydotes



Series: It's the Little Things, Dude [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/pseuds/Pokeydotes
Summary: Everyone wants to know how Peter's new Spidey-sense works.Peter just wants everyone to stop poking him with pointy things.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: It's the Little Things, Dude [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565779
Comments: 13
Kudos: 456





	It's called science, Peter. Look it up.

“Alright, explain it to me again.”

Peter sighed, fumbled with the screwdriver and web canister he was working with, and tried to find the right words. “It’s like a tickle, a…tingle, at the back of my neck.”

Tony had his arm elbow deep in what was left of the old Mark-46 suit. He pulled out a set of melted wires, tossed them over his shoulder with a scowl, and then asked, “And you only feel it if you’re in trouble?”

“Yes—,” Peter nodded, thought about it, then frowned. “Maybe, I don’t know, but I think so. It’s like a warning or something.”

“Is it accurate?”

“I don’t know, it’s still new,” Peter said with a shrug, reaching for his web shooter and trying to make the canister fit inside. He had exactly no idea what it was, let alone if it was accurate. “I just, I just know that every time I’ve felt it, something bad was about to happen.”

“How bad? Scale it for me.”

“I don’t know…”

Tony looked up from the suit and grabbed a grease stained towel to wipe his hands on. “On a scale of May-Parker-looking-under-my-mattress to there’s-a-gun-to-my-head, what’s the least dangerous thing that’s made you tickle?”

Peter tilted his head with a frown. “What’s under your mattress?”

“I was talking about _your_ mattress,” Tony corrected, “and don’t segue, answer the question.”

“Uh…” Peter closed his eyes and tried to think, remembered the feeling of gravity kicking his ass and said, “I felt it just before my web canister failed while on patrol.”

“It failed?” Tony dropped the towel and grabbed the web shooter out of Peter’s hand. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It was empty.”

Tony’s eyebrows met in the middle in a familiarly disapproving scowl. “That’s not a product malfunction, that’s a user malfunction. I know your AI tells you when it’s almost empty.”

“…she does.”

“Karen, right? That’s what you named her?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t ignore Karen. She’s smarter than you. That it?” he tossed the web shooter back to Peter and started digging through a toolbox. “That the least dangerous, though incredibly stupid and preventable thing that set it off, this…whatever it is?”

“I felt it right before Flash tripped me in the hall.”

Tony stopped digging and looked over his shoulder. “Flash? Is that the asshole?”

Peter nodded and went back to working on his web shooter. “Flash is the asshole.”

“Hmmm.”

There were more sounds of rummaging, clinks and clanks echoed through the lab as Tony clattered from one desk to the other. Peter didn’t bother asking what the “hmmm” had meant, he was slowly starting to learn what Tony’s “thinking” sounded like, and if it was like anything in the past, it was best not to interrupt it.

Or so Peter thought.

But he’d been wrong before.

The clanking stopped, the soles of Tony’s shoes squeaked as he pivoted around, and something sharp and very painful _jabbed_ itself in Peter’s back.

“Ouch!” He yelped. He turned around to find Tony staring at him, a micro diamond drill bit held in his hand. _What the hell?_

“Did it tickle then?” he asked, not looking the least bit guilty.

“No!”

Tony’s frown went from quizzical to insulted. He looked down at the tool in his hand, tapped his finger on the tip and winced before sticking it in his mouth. “Wonder why Flash the Ass gets a tickle but not me?”

“Maybe because I trust you more than Flash?” Peter snapped, wincing as he tried to reach around and rub at the sore spot along his spine. “Geez, Mr. Stark. That hurt.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’ve been stabbed before.”

“Twice now, thanks.”

“With an actual knife, _this_ hardly counts,” Tony tossed the bit onto the worktable. “Don’t be melodramatic. I’ve been informed people don’t like it.” He clapped his hands, made a few snaps with his fingers and then leaned back against his desk, arms crossing over his chest as he stared at Peter, studied him. “So, we’ve established a hypothesis. It has to be a reasonable threat, with actual harm intended. You ever get the tinglies during training?”

“No.”

“Not even when Nat did that whole little death crunch on your neck with her thighs?”

“No.”

“Pretty sure a teenage boy should get _some_ kind of tingles when that happens?”

Peter smirked and tilted his head. “Does she make you tingle?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “I liked you better when you were all stuttery and blushing. This smart-ass Parker isn’t as much fun.”

As if it were waiting for its cue, Peter felt his face heat up, the tips of his ears burn as they reddened. He ducked his head and focused back on his web shooter. “Sorry.”

He heard Tony sigh, saw him move out the corner of his eye. “Never mind, kid,” he said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder as he walked by, “go back to being a smart-ass.”

Peter pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. They were slowly getting over the awkward stages of this whole mentor/mentee thing. Peter was learning not to gawk and spaz out, to see Tony as an actual person, as someone more than Iron Man.

And Tony was oh so slowly learning to see Peter as something more than a freaky kid with a tendency to get in trouble. He wasn’t exactly treating Peter as an equal, not yet…but they were getting there. There was definitely respect being shown.

But then again…

“Ouch! What the hell?”

Tony held up a pair of needle nose pliers. “Still nothing?”

* * *

Here’s the thing: when you have a hypothesis, you have to test it. Everyone knew that, whether they were a scientist or not.

And Tony Stark was a scientist.

“Did Mr. Stark put you up to this?” Peter asked. He was stuck on the ceiling, his t-shirt sliding down to pool under his arms as he looked down at Natasha Romanov (who had the decency to look as though teenage boys always hung out upside down, suspended from the ceiling by their fingers and toes. No big deal).

“He might have mentioned it in passing,” she said as she adjusted the wrappings around her hand. “I thought it was interesting,” she added, giving a little shrug as she looked up, “wanted to test it out myself.”

“I’ve never felt it act up when we’ve sparred,” he pointed out. And they’d sparred numerous times. Something about him being woefully unprepared, eventually getting his ass kicked, yada yada. He was starting to regret agreeing to the whole Mama Spider tutelage thing the Captain had sat up.

“Yeah, but I’ve never intentionally tried to actually hurt you before,” she said, and boy could her smile turn scary quick.

“You’re not really making me want to come down.”

“Get down here, bug, or I swear, I will find a way to come up there.”

Peter dropped down.

She kicked his ass.

Repeatedly.

* * *

Tony didn’t really seem interested in whether or not the Black Widow had given his protégé a possible broken nose or a definite black eye. His only concern was whether or not Peter had felt a warning tingle.

“Nothing? You didn’t feel anything at all?”

“Just pain and a newfound sense of embarrassment.” Peter adjusted the icepack on his nose and tried to take comfort in the fact that Nat was currently nursing a few bruises of her own.

Tony moved the icepack and winced sympathetically. “She didn’t hurt you too bad, did she?”

Peter wrinkled his nose, regretted it, and shrugged. “Just my pride,” he said, “I think that’s permanently wounded.”

“It shouldn’t be. She’s the definition of lethal. But seriously, no tingle?”

“No tingle.”

“Hmmm.” Tony hummed. He was thinking again.

“Don’t do that.” 

* * *

Peter healed fast, but not fast enough. May stared at the swollen nose and greenish bruise from her end of the sofa and took a sip of her coffee.

“Did you at least _try_ and defend yourself?”

“Hey, I’m not the only one with a black eye,” Peter pointed out. “I’ve actually gotten better at the whole fighting thing.”

“Hmmm,” May hummed and took another sip. May’s thinking was different than Tony’s. Tony’s brain didn’t really work like everyone else’s. His thoughts and ideas weren’t predictable, at least not to Peter.

May’s however…

Peter knew May, like, really _knew_ her, better than he knew anyone else. He knew that when that little V formed between her eyebrows, her eyes crinkling, lips parting in a confused sneer, she was thinking something along the lines of “what the fuck?”

When her left eyebrow arched higher than the right, her mouth puckering to the side, Peter knew he was in trouble.

He knew her surprised face, her happy face.

He knew what she looked like when she thought her world was ending.

He wasn’t entirely sure what she was about to say, but based on the look she was giving him and the way her smile cocked to the side, whatever it was, was going to be sarcastic as fuck.

“I’m trying to figure out how fucked up my life is that I’m not the least bit concerned that my sixteen-year-old just got in a fist fight with a former Russian assassin. And lost.”

Boom. Told ya.

“It was a tie.”

“Was it really?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

“I liked it better when you were all panicky and concerned.”

“No you didn’t.” Smile and another sip. “So, did this little S&M session at least get results? Other than temporary disfigurement?”

“I don’t know,” Peter sighed, slumping down until his head hit the armrest, his toes tucking themselves between his aunt’s thigh and the cushion. “I never felt a warning, so I don’t know how that affects Mr. Stark’s hypothesis, because Nat definitely intended to cause harm.”

“Hmmm.”

Peter lifted his head so he could see his aunt. “You’re not about to stab me are you?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Peter said, letting his head fall back. “What’re you thinking?”

“That maybe this whole little psychic mojo can’t be tricked. I mean, I really like to think that Natasha wouldn’t have _really_ caused you harm.”

Peter pointed at his still swollen nose.

“You know what I mean,” May continued in an unbothered tone, and yeah, their lives were way fucked because Peter could remember a time when she would flip over the smallest bruise and go into full-on mama bear mode.

“What I’m saying,” she continued, “is if this little sixth sense, this spider psychic warning system you’ve got going on can really sense danger, maybe it has to be real, actual danger. Not a test. I mean, if the… _spider_ bit of you knows you’re safe, that it was just training, that you were _willingly_ setting yourself up to get your ass kicked, maybe it, I don’t know, maybe it didn’t see a point in warning you.”

It was Peter’s turn to “Hmmm.”

* * *

“Have I ever set it off?”

“Why would _you_ set it off, Ned?”

“I don’t know…what about MJ? She ever set it off.”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“But it’s weird though, isn’t it? That Flash could set it off but not the Black Widow?”

“May thinks it’s because Nat didn’t really intend to cause me harm, that my spider side knew I wasn’t in real danger or something.”

“Dude, I saw the bruises.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ned. I can’t control it.”

“…you sure MJ’s never set it off?”

“Man, let it go.”

* * *

Peter had Karen keep a list of every time his powers warned him about potential danger. It varied, everything from potential bullies to stray bullets made the list.

Tony was not on that list.

Not for lack of trying.

“He keeps poking me with pointy things.”

Bruce laughed, but kept his eyes on the microscope. “Yeah, he does that.”

Peter rolled his eyes and spun around on the stool. “It’s been over a month and we still can’t figure out exactly what causes it to tingle. I mean, except for danger, but it seems to be picky on what it wants to warn me about.”

“We still talking about your Spidey-sense?” Bruce asked, hand rising to slowly adjust the scope’s magnification.

Peter stopped spinning. “We’re not calling it that.”

Bruce looked up, his face confused. “That’s what Tony’s calling it.”

“Seriously?”

“I like it,” Bruce said with a shrug and went back to his slides. “Kinda catchy. People like alliteration.”

“Ugh,” Peter groaned. He kicked his feet and pushed himself towards the other lab table and his abandoned chemistry homework. “So, what’re your thoughts?” he asked after working through a few formulas. “About my…Spidey-sense?”

Bruce looked up from the microscope and frowned in contemplation. “I think there’s a lot about your physiology that we don’t understand,” he said, hand scratching absently at his head as he continued to think out loud. “I mean, we don’t even know what _kind_ of spider bit you…” he looked to Peter for confirmation.

“A big one,” Peter answered.

Bruce smiled and shook his head. “See? Different spiders have different abilities, different DNA, and that’s not even counting what Osborn’s men had done to your spider before it found you. You’re still basically human. Mostly. But…there’s no doubt it’s handy. I mean, the ability to sense danger? That’s a pretty neat trick for a hero to have.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. Really freaking handy. “Kinda wish I knew how to control it though.”

“I don’t see how you _could_ control it,” Bruce said, grabbing a pipette and sticking it into something that looked suspiciously like urine.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m assuming it’s just always _on_ , isn’t it?” Bruce asked, pipette dribbling little droplets of yuck onto a clean slide. “If it’s going to give you a warning anytime you’re in danger, then it has to always be looking for said danger. Don’t know how you’d control it, unless you’re wanting to turn it off. And why would you want to turn it off?”

“Huh,” Peter hadn’t really thought of it that way. Neither had Tony apparently, he always seemed stuck on the what and why, not the how. “Do spiders have a, uh, do they have a ‘Spidey-sense’?”

“I do know spiders are more sensitive to their surroundings,” Bruce said as he looked up from his slides, “They use scent and sounds, vibrations in their webs, things like that. But I’ve never heard of them having the ability of precognition, to _sense_ danger before it’s there.” Bruce sighed and gave a shrug. “But I’ve got a wizard’s number in my phone and I found out raccoons can talk, so hey, why can’t a spider mutated teen predict the future?”

Peter laughed and turned back to his homework. “Yeah, why not.”

There wasn’t a tingle, but Peter still knew it was coming.

He’d barely picked up his pencil when he felt a sharp pinch in the back of his arm.

Peter turned to find Bruce holding up something sharp, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Dude.”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

* * *

Happy didn’t really care about it either way. So the superhero has a new superpower, who cares? But that was just Happy; dismissive and unimpressed. Peter learned a long time ago not to take it personally.

Sort of.

There weren’t very many people still alive that Peter could say he absolutely trusted, like _really_ trusted with that blind faith kinda loyalty type of trust, but Happy Hogan was on that list (whether he wanted to be or not).

Peter trusted him. Plain and simple.

Yeah, their relationship was a little… _strained_ at times, but they were working on it. Peter was learning not to overshare and Happy was learning to listen.

It was a work in progress.

“Did you break the Queensboro Bridge?”

“Nope.”

“You saying you weren’t there?”

“No, I’m saying _I’m_ not the one who broke it.”

“What the hell happened, Parker?”

“It’s a long story….There was—“

“I’m gonna stop you there. First things first: are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.”

“…….”

“Are you asking FRIDAY?”

“I’m just double checking.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“Fine. Okay, now tell me what happened, but pretend it’s that tweet thing, keep it under a hundred characters.”

“You can use more than that now.”

“There went like half of them.”

Work in progress.

But there was definitely trust, at least on Peter’s side, which is why he never expected his Spider-sense, Spidey-sense, whatever, to go off while he was napping in the back of Happy’s car.

And it was definitely more than a tingle.

They were somewhere between Queens and Manhattan, the trip taking longer thanks to rush hour traffic, construction, and the Queensboro bridge being…temporarily unusable.

Peter’s head was resting against the window, the seatbelt pressing up against his throat as he dozed. He thought he was dreaming at first, that the buzz he felt vibrating through his skull was imagined.

But then that buzz felt more like a shock, what started as a light tingle grew, sharpening, demanding attention as it radiated from the base of Peter’s neck up to his temples.

WAKE UP it screamed, and Peter did. He opened his eyes to find Happy scowling at the slow moving cars before him, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.

“What---?” Peter looked around, winced as the buzzing in his head grew. There wasn’t anything around, nothing more than late afternoon traffic.

“You good kid?” Happy asked, scowl making its way to the rearview mirror. “You look like you’re--,”

“Pull over.” Peter wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew something bad was coming.

“What?”

“Just pull over, Happy. Trust me.”

Happy threw his hands in the air, the scowl deepening. “Where am I supposed to pull over? The sidewalk? We’re in the middle of—,”

But Peter didn’t care, the Spidey-sense didn’t care. Neither did the pickup truck barreling down the alley.

Peter heard it first, his head turning towards the sound of a revving engine. The warning tingle buzzed in confirmation, like a pat on the head. _Good boy, you figured it out_.

Happy’s car was still inching forward, but not fast enough. It was right at the opening of the alley, and in the span of a few seconds, Peter gave in to his Spidey-sense and let instinct take over.

His seatbelt was off before the truck cleared the alley.

He was on his feet, arms reaching forward into the front seat before the sound of squealing tires and shifting gravel could be heard.

It wasn’t perfect timing, it wasn’t smooth and flawless, but it was good enough.

Peter grabbed the steering wheel and pulled at the same time he pushed down hard on Happy’s knee, forcing his foot onto the gas pedal.

The engine revved, the tires squealed, and the undercarriage made a painful scraping sound as Peter steered the car up onto the sidewalk.

They didn’t get completely out of the way, but the big ass truck was no longer aiming for Happy’s driver door.

Instead, it smashed into the back taillight, pushing the trunk of the car into the seat Peter had just abandoned.

It was dizzying, jarring, and painful.

Peter couldn’t do anything but go with the motion as the car slammed forward.

There was a _pop_ , a _hiss_ , and then a muffled _fuck_ as the car’s airbags deployed.

Peter could hear his heart whooshing in his ears, could feel it beating in his throat.

There were people screaming, horns blaring, engines whirring, and the delicate sound of glass tinkling down onto the asphalt.

There was a moment’s reprieve as everything came to a standstill.

Then the momentum ended, Peter’s body settled wherever it was going to settle, and Happy began to angrily push against the slowly deflating airbag.

Peter blinked. His head was squished between Happy’s knee and the steering column, the gearshift was pressing painfully into his right kidney, and his knee was twisted around the passenger seat’s headrest.

“Holy shit. Did we die?”

“I don’t think so?”

“We’re not dead?”

“Death doesn’t come with airbags, kid. You okay?”

“Ow.”

“I’m gonna need a little more than that?”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah, we’re going to get a second opinion on that. No offense.”

And suddenly they were no longer alone. People were pulling on Happy’s door, FRIDAY’s voice was filtering up from the dashboard, and Peter could hear someone screaming about calling 911.

Peter ignored the hands pushing him down, the worried all-knowing-I-watch-Grey’s-Anatomy-so-I-know-best voices telling him not to move, that an ambulance was on the way. He pushed himself up and climbed out the passenger door.

The scene was a mess, but nowhere near as bad as it could have been.

People were gathered around the pickup truck, worried hands and panicked voices giving the same spiel they’d just tried with Peter to the truck’s driver.

Those that weren’t gathered around trying to get a closer look were standing out of the way, their phones out, flashes going crazy as they all took pictures of New York’s newest drama.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time, now move!”

Peter turned to find Happy climbing out of the driver’s seat, his arms angrily pushing away the would-be good Samaritans.

“I’m fine,” he assured them, adjusting his suit’s jacket before cautiously touching his bleeding nose. He winced, scowled angrily with a touch of concern at the truck buried in the Audi’s trunk, and looked over at Peter.

“How did you know? Was it—,” he made a weird gesture towards his head, “—that…that tingle thing?”

“Yeah.” Peter leaned against the roof of the car and sighed. “Started buzzing like crazy.”

“Oh.” Happy mirrored Peter and propped his arms on the roof. “Well, yay for that. This going on your list?”

“What list?”

“That list you got of everything that’s made your Sp—that’s tickled your fancy.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter said, smiling through a wince as he stretched his back. “Figure it’ll go somewhere between atomic wedgies and bullet holes.”

“You know Tony’s gonna be pissed he missed it, right?”

“More pissed than he is about his car?”

Happy smirked. “Tony’s got lots of cars. He’s yet to experience your new mojo in action.”

That was true, but as Peter listened to the sounds of approaching sirens and watched as Happy tenderly dabbed his tie against his bleeding nose, Peter thought it was probably a good thing not to be around when his “mojo” went off.

* * *

“Aliens, assassins, inter-dimensional gods, and actual wizards. You’ve seen some pretty crazy things, gone up against even crazier and yet you almost get taken out by a middle-aged dad with anger issues and a bad case of road rage.”

Peter opened his eyes and lifted his head off his pillow. Tony was leaning against his bedroom door, one hand in his pocket, the other resting at his side, a pair of sunglasses dangling from his hand.

Peter grinned and laid his head back down. “Cut out the road rage and it’s not even the first pissed off middle-aged dad that’s almost killed me.”

Tony smirked, shook his head, and walked further into the room. He tossed his sunglasses atop Peter’s dresser and looked around, eyes tracking over posters and photos. He reached out and nudged a broken circuit board Peter had pulled from a scrapped computer and tapped the side of an empty coffee cup before reaching into a forgotten bucket of Lego pieces and rutting around.

“So, you healing okay?” he asked, grabbing a few pieces of the plastic blocks and trying to make them fit together. “Happy said you weren’t wearing your seatbelt, that you got knocked around pretty good.”

“Just bruising,” Peter informed him, not making any effort to sit up. His back was a mess of blues and purples, or so it had been when May first ordered him to bed, made him lay on his stomach, and set every bag of frozen vegetables they owned on the bruises. He hadn’t moved since. “It’ll probably be gone by tomorrow, Monday at the latest.”

The Lego bucket rattled again. Tony grabbed a few more pieces before making his way over to the bed. He reached for the now soggy and limp bag of peas and let it drop to the floor with a _shlip_ sound before lifting up the edge of Peter’s shirt.

Tony frowned, let the shirt fall and sat on the edge of the bed, his hip pressing against Peter’s still sore knee as he distractedly tried to make the Legos fit together. “Hap said your Spidey-sense tingled.”

“It woke me up.”

Tony stopped playing with Legos and arched a brow. “It woke you up?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “And it was definitely more than a tingle this time, it hurt.”

“It hurt?”

“Yeah, though not as bad as getting body slammed into a gearshift.”

Tony hummed again and returned his attention to the tiny plastic sculpture he was slowly building. “You know, I’ve spent millions, literal _millions_ of dollars developing the Iron Man suits. Jarvis, FRIDAY, your Karen. There’s a Stark satellite orbiting Earth so that I wouldn’t have to depend on other’s shitty technology. I have sensors on everything, cameras, x-rays, lasers, you name it. I’ve done everything I can possibly think of to keep me and mine safe.”

Tony fumbled with the Legos, dropped a few, and sighed, his shoulders slumping as he tossed the figure he’d been building towards the end of the bed. “I don’t think anything I’ve built would have been able to see that truck coming when you did.” Tony turned his eyes back to Peter. “Happy said you weren’t even near the alley when you woke up, that you were already in the front seat before he saw the truck.”

“I could hear it coming,” Peter said.

“You could _feel_ it coming,” Tony corrected. “It’s like you’re really a spider and the whole world’s your web.”

Peter didn’t really know what to say to that, so he didn’t try.

Tony sighed again, twisted his mouth to the side and took another look around Peter’s room. “I’m glad you have it though, this Spidey-sense. I mean, I’d rather you be bullet proof, but this…this works.”

There was silence then, and it would have been awkward except Peter didn’t think Tony had noticed it yet. He was still staring at the wall, eyes distant like he was thinking.

Peter couldn’t read Tony like he could May, but he knew whatever Tony was thinking, it wasn’t happy. His brow was furrowed, the corners of his mouth pinched, his eyes…sad?

“Does it bother you?” Peter asked, surprising both himself and Tony with the question.

Tony stopped his staring contest with Peter’s _Star Wars_ poster and looked to Peter. His expression quickly morphing from one of sadness to one of curiosity. “Does what bother me?”

“That you don’t know how it works? My Spidey-sense, I mean, as a scientist, does it bug you not knowing the answer?”

“It bugs the fuck out of me,” Tony admitted, sounding both aggravated and exasperated, all the stoic seriousness from a moment ago gone. “You seriously never felt anything when Natasha broke your face?”

“Not a tingle, no.”

“Hmmm.”

“You stab me again, I’m telling Aunt May.”


End file.
